


Something Between Life and Death

by AliveAndAlight



Series: Something Between Life and Death [1]
Category: Hollow Knight (Video Game)
Genre: Adventure, Existential Crisis, Gen, Ghost is probably still alive, Hallownest is DEAD, I think everyone's alive at the moment, Infection's still around, Might change, a tiny bit of blood but nothing graphic, fan character, giant tired moth takes a nap, is THK locked up?? we'll find out, we'll see i don't know man
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-20 02:33:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13137276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliveAndAlight/pseuds/AliveAndAlight
Summary: He chose to answer a peculiar calling, an answer, he felt. Something that would silence the questions dancing within his mind. Hallownest was dead, but what better a place for answers than an old, untouched corpse of a once-grand kingdom?





	Something Between Life and Death

**Author's Note:**

> UH i don't know how to write anything and this is one of my first serious fics in a long time, i'm so sorry in advance
> 
> On a side note, Falon (the big moth dude) was stabbed to death and revived in case anyone's confused abt that, since it wasn't clearly stated

Lon. That was his name, right? Falon? For some reason, the name didn't entirely feel like his own anymore. The rush of events made him feel stripped of his identity, just a husk of who he used to be. The tall white moth held a claw over the elegant, finely-decorated cloth that covered his chest, stained with old blood. His blood.

He could still feel the burning, sharp sting of his wound, as though his chest was pierced only moments ago. Yet, it bled no more. The wound was still present, it hasn't healed despite his revival. The fluid that now leaked from it was like ethereal light, as though his own soul was seeping out of the laceration, drifting away from his being. With a long sigh, Lon wrapped his wings around his body and looked to the horizon.

Wind howling, wings dragging the dirt and sand, nothing to see for miles on end. Dust speckled his body and the gusts remained relentless, churning the loose silt, causing the wastes to feel all the more endless. The elegant moth’s mind barked and screamed at him, thoughts that weren't entirely his own, yet he persisted. His goal was within reach, he knew that he was close, surely just a few more miles. _Just a few more._

His breaths grew shorter, and his legs trembled with each step, the weary moth’s entire being feeling the weight of exhaustion bearing down. If he wasn’t already half dead, Lon knew he would have collapsed by now, but some unexplainable force kept him going. If his own will was driving him, he would have stopped to rest hours ago. Something else was pushing him to progress. Something he couldn't explain. Like a second, stronger soul dwelling inside him.

Lon stopped. Burning, stinging, aching, _pain._ He needed to rest.

The shells occasionally scattering the dunes weren't his preference, but they would have to suffice. It was better than the ground. He brushed off one of the larger gray shells, exposing the dull shine of the long-dead creature’s remains. It had clearly been there for decades, long forgotten by time, as all that remained of the corpse was a set of sturdy back plates. It would do.

Lon took a seat, relieving his aching body, easing the bitter soreness in his legs. The screeching winds swirled and danced around him, sprinkling his body with dust that began to collect within a matter of seconds. _If you remain still for too long, you might as well be buried like the corpses around you!_ His mind whispered to him, pushing him to keep going.

The thoughts were not enough to persuade him. At least, not yet. He merely needed enough time to catch his breath. His entire being cried out in exhaustion, he had to rest, just for a moment. The wastes were dangerous and relentless, staying still for too long would expose any unfortunate soul to whatever horrors lurked in these vast dunes. But he only needed a moment.

_‘It feels like it's only been hours,’_ Lon began to think to himself, ‘ _but I know it's been days. I've walked for so long now, I don't know what's compelled me to keep going, but I suppose the lack of self care is finally catching up, isn’t it?’_ The pale moth shook his head, chuckling at his thoughts.

He knew his decision was reckless, travelling on a whim, following nothing more than what felt like a gut feeling. He could turn back, brush the feeling away, try to believe that it was nothing more than a bad dream, and continue with his life as though he’d never died. But what did he have to go back to? His own funeral? _Ha, ha, ha._

Lon felt his heart sink at the thought. He couldn't go back. Not to something like that. The only way was forward.

He rose from the husk, shaking the dust and soot from his fur, sending it back into the winds. The pale moth’s eyes met the horizon once more, the details flickering in and out between the hazy atmosphere, yet surely his goal could be seen in the distance. The faint outline of the mountain peaked between the hills of the wastes, barely revealing itself through the winds. It was about time that his perilous journey showed its reward.

The rest of his travel was uneventful, merely winds choked with dust, scattered corpses, and rolling hills of sand. By the time Lon reached the caves of the mountains, he was seeing stars spiral, his vision flickered, his head felt light. He had to stop. He needed to stop. _You can’t, you’re so close, you have to keep going…_ His mind whispered to him, nudging him onwards. He arrived at the remains of an elegant door, formerly blocking the way to a ruined bridge. Faint lights could be seen past the door, the sparkle of lumafly lanterns. Civilization, _finally_.

Lon stepped onto the broken bridge, trying to observe the village below, but his sight was fading into a hazy dream. _He made it, he just needed to rest… just for a second…_ His body limply tumbled off the ruined bridge, fell to the rocky road below, and landed on his side with all the grace of a rancid egg. He gasped at the impact, losing his breath, but it wasn't enough to encourage him to observe where he’d landed. The poor moth just wanted to sleep. He made it, he made it to Hallownest, he could _finally_ sleep. He didn’t even bother trying to get up.

* * *

 

By the light, his _head_. It pounded with a horrible, splitting pain between his eyes. He could not tell if the pain was from his exhaustingly long journey, or if he landed on his head during his rather inelegant fall. The unexpected rest was not the most reinvigorating, yet he had to continue. The cold earth was not the best place to revitalize, anyways. Howbeit, Lon’s vision danced and flickered as he rose, twisting his sight beyond reasonable comprehension. He was not well. This was not good.

He took a sluggish step forward. Burning, stinging, aching, _pain._ His chest seethed with an unrelenting agony. Blood dripped from his mouth.

With distorted perception, Lon trudged towards the town, the remainder of the cobblestone path feeling far longer than it should. His lumbering would have looked like one of the accursed undead if his wings did not veil his body. By the time Lon reached a lone iron bench within the town, he was practically hauling his entire body. Or, rather, some entity was dragging him forth, like a puppet on strings, forcing him to continue.

Lon’s consciousness slipped away once more the second he was able to rest. Though ashamed he was not able to progress further, he had to set aside this absurd coercion. He had gained incredible resilience in his return to life, yet he was not immortal. Lon knew his limit, and he had reached it. His head pounded with a horrid migraine, and his chest resonated with an intense burn. It was safe here, he could rest with ease for once, lest he fall off another cliff from exhaustion. He was left with nothing to disturb him, nothing except his own restless mind.

_It’s here!_ “What is?” _You have to find it._ “Find what?” _Just follow the call._ “Follow what?” _The call, the beckon, the force keeping you going._ “Why? What’s so important?”

 

The thoughts fell silent. He was asleep.

* * *

 

Relief. He finally felt relief. Lon returned to the waking world, calmer, content.

 

The soft flickering of the lumafly lantern lulled his nerves, and with a deep, heavy sigh, he was able to find a sense of repose. Dirtmouth, this place was called? What a humble little village, settled in the mountain’s heart, resting above such a grand ruin. Hallownest was quite renowned in his lands as one of the most powerful kingdoms. Lon remembered how shocking it was to hear that Hallownest had, in fact, fallen long ago.

Upon seeing the empty state of this village, however, the knowledge was no longer hard to swallow. Not a soul wandered on the cobblestone path. Only a handful of house windows were lit with candles and lanterns, particularly the remaining shops along the main road. The rest of the town presented nothing but boarded windows and doors, a lonely, unfortunate husk of what it used to be. _How sad, how desolate!_

The air lingering within the locale was not entirely peaceful, however. The faint abiding of an abhorrent scent lightly drifted through the mild breezes, originating at the town’s well. Something was down there, something was wrong. Was this what compelled him to come so far? Or was this merely coincidence, that this land stirred with a malice far below? There was only one way to know. Lon stood, and for once, he did not feel pain coarse through him as he returned to his feet. A refreshing change.

From the village, the only way down was through the old, dilapidated remains of a well, settled at the far end of the village. Though clearly broken and beaten, it had not gone unused as of late, no, the sets of footsteps leading to its core said otherwise. There was a chain mounted to a post of shellwood, providing a safe method of descent. For moths like Lon, gifted with powerful flight, falls were usually not an issue. Yet, he feared keeping his wings open for too long, should he lose the cloth he kept oh-so tightly wrapped around his chest. He decided to descend using the rusty old chain instead.

The scenery below the well was a dramatic change from the village. Old, beaten roads trailed in multiple directions, crossroad signs for every path, remains of wagons and carts scattered across the cobblestone. This place had been long forgotten by time, yet still caught the wonder of any curious traveller. A magical and mysterious place, indeed.

The pale moth had a vague sense of his direction. Whatever had been guiding him had grown weak, quiet, still. It was almost blissful, having control over himself again for once. He felt guided to his goal, yet which path was the correct way? Did they all lead to his destination, merely varying routes to the same end? This place held such a mystical air, he truly did not feel concerned about his path. Wherever he was being guided, he would find it eventually.

He meandered off in whatever direction seemed most interesting. He was in no rush, none at all. In fact, he quite admired the scenery. The craftsmanship! Though now in ruins, this place was still grand and breathtaking. How exquisite it must have been in its days of glory. The liveliness these streets must have seen! He would have lingered longer, had it not been for the feeling in his chest. Compelling him was the ever-present voice lingering in the back of his mind, the voice that felt alien. The persistent voice that wasn’t of his own thoughts, now weak, yet still determined.

_Og to eht calpe of aded dan sredma to viulen eth tthur!_ “What?” _Uyo wlli tdnusenard enwh uyo arveir._ “You’re not making sense anymore.”

He vigorously shook his head, causing the fur around his neck to ruffle. He did not understand what was happening, or why these thoughts were suddenly so incomprehensible. Did this land act as a barrier, shielding the conscious? Or did it weaken the mind? Come to think of it, what even _were_ these thoughts? A part of him, a gift due to his revival? Some curse wrought upon him, a terrible lingering spirit? _His_ spirit? Was he even himself anymore?

Lon’s gaze was empty, lifeless, entirely blank has he stared into the distance, eyes unfocused and hazy. He felt as though, suddenly, the emptiness of Hallownest sunk into his being. The pale moth did not feel as though he was on the same plane of existence anymore, this realm felt intangible. Isolated. Devoid. It felt like the ever-so familiar feeling that he experienced before. The same feeling that overtook his being when he awoke from what he was sure to be his eternal slumber. The feeling of something between life and death.

 

Perhaps this is why he was called here.

**Author's Note:**

> I have no idea when part 2 will come out but !!! i hope you guys enjoy the existential crisis that my moth weirdo has to go thru. he's not having a fun time. we;ll be back with more at 7
> 
> boy i wish i was more confident about my writing


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